Blue Mage
by Mr.Nobody9999
Summary: A story set in a homebrew world based on the classic Final Fantasy games. The life of a blue mage isn't an easy one. They are shunned and distrusted due to their extreme spellcasting. Other adventurers are wary about working with them. Will Claus find his place in the world?
1. Chapter 1

The iron giant roared. The sun beat down on its obsidian armor and glinted off to sting Claus's eyes. It swung its fearsome blade and narrowly missed the ranger who tumbled across the sand. He kicked up dust when he stood up. Claus watched as the ranger, whose leather gear was sullied with desert grit, rose and nocked another arrow. The wayward blow from the impressive fiend's thick hacking blade fell through the roof of a long-abandoned temple. The impact of the attack caused the temple to fall in on itself with a deafening crash. As the bricks and stones fell and rolled from the wreckage, the iron giant stirred, disoriented, in the dusty cloud that rose from this implosion.

Claus pushed the blue porcelain mask back up the bridge of his nose against his sweaty, sun burnt skin. He turned expectantly to the black mage behind him, who hunkered in the shade of a decapitated stature. Claus's tongue buzzed as he watched the mage call lightning to his hands.

"A little longer," Notch said, eyes obscured by his steepled hat.

The fighter, his wild red hair flowing like an inferno in a gust of hateful desert wind, raised his greatsword above his head. A war cry erupted from his mouth as he charged into the dusty chaos. The warrior moved so recklessly that he kicked up sand every time his feet rose from the ground.

"No, you moron!" Claus warned. It seemed as though Hank was deaf to his cautionary words.

"What's the matter, blue mage?" Notch asked as he gathered more crackling energy for his lightning spell. "Afraid we're going to steal all the glory again?"

"He's likely more concerned that we'll all meet our dooms in these gods-forsaken ruins," Tori, the white mage said. She came to a halt short of the other mages. Her long brown hair was matted with sweat. Her well-endowed chest heaved beneath her sullied white and red robes as she caught her breath. "Has anyone been hurt?" She asked.

"Neal might have suffered some scrapes and bruises," Claus said, referring to the ranger.

Even in the blinding sunlight, the black mage's eyes glowed and his body hummed with electricity. "The only one about to need healing is the fiend!" Notch looked up at Tori and smiled before he left his cover and prepared to unleash his spell on the fiend.

Claus looked on with concern. The iron giant's body wrenched towards the warrior as it heard him approach. "You might want to let Hank realize that he's outmatched before you cast anything big," Claus warned.

"If this thing is as strong as you say, then we'd best end the fight as quickly as possible." The black mage pointed his oaken staff at the creature in the dusty ruins. "Thundara!"

Before Hank could attempt a thrust of his sword, everything went dim. The warrior's sweat went cold beneath his heavy armor as he tasted static in the air. Hank didn't have time to retreat or roll out of the way before a barrage of lightning strikes hit both him and the fiend. The iron giant took the worst of Notch's storm and was struck multiple times in its ugly, scowling face and hulking torso with wild blasts of yellow and blue light. Hank caught a bolt in the shoulder and another in the thigh. Searing pain quickly gave way to numbness and the warrior collapsed into the sand. The towering fiend appeared unphased by the attack, despite taking the brunt of it.

Notch gazed upon the situation with wide eyes. Tori ran forward in an ill-fated attempt to heal Hank before the iron giant could attack. Neal sprung from the shadows and sent an arrow to the giant's head that splintered harmlessly. The fiend took no notice and knelt to grab the stunned warrior by the head and lift him from the ground. The warrior's legs dangled uselessly above the hot sand. Hank screamed from the bottom of his lungs, only for it to be muffled by the tightening iron grip of the obsidian fiend.

Claus turned away from the grisly scene. As a child enslaved by the Academy of Blue Magic, he'd seen classmates lose battles to large fiends. Fiends had no concept of mercy nor any guiding morality to dilute their murderous cruelty. One of the first things Claus learned as a blue mage that a difference between ordinary beasts and fiends was the capacity of fiends for sadism. Claus knew from the disgusting squelch, that Hank the warrior was no more. The warrior fell to the dust with a mess of viscera where his head once was. Craving more brutality, the giant lifted Hank's body by a greaved leg and began to whip it against a set of ruined stone steps. Three strokes in, armor flew from the body, as did rivulets of blood from fresh wounds. Seven more strokes, and the warrior's flesh hung in patches and ribbons from the fighter's exposed musculature and his entrails swung violently to match the gargantuan fiend's aggressive movements. Neal lost count of the lashes as blood ran down the ancient steps in rivers. After several more strikes, the body broke against the forgotten stone structure. The iron giant cast away the severed leg it had held to facilitate its wicked fun. It was the only part of Hank's body that hadn't been reduced to an unrecognizable bloody pulp.

Tori fell to her hands and knees. Despite the sun's blistering heat, she felt cold. The reviving jolt that phoenix down might give would do nothing to reverse Hank's dismemberment. None of the white magic at her command could help. Tori vomited the contents of her stomach onto the ground as tears fell from her eyes.

Neal, the ranger, knew that any attack he might direct at the towering armored fiend would be useless. The semi-circular gallery of stone ruins prevented him from regrouping with the mages. Attempting this would certainly bring him into the path of the giant. Having witnessed the fate of Hank the warrior, Neal turned and sprinted into the open desert.

Claus's heart sank when he saw Neal retreat. Given that iron giants lurked the ruins he and his companions found themselves in, the blue mage dreaded the thought of what might lurk further into wasteland. Besides fiends, Neal would also have to worry about thirst and heat exhaustion brought on by the desert's oppressive calefaction. His attention returned to the dire encounter with the iron giant when he felt the earth shake. Black plated metal skin clanked and screeched as the fiend marched for the mages with purpose. Claus felt the cold sweat on Tori's shoulders as he guided her behind the statue to the black mage. "We have to come up with a plan," Claus whispered.

"I hope your plan is going to involve killing that thing," said Notch. "I'm not going to leave these ruins until we've avenged Hank."

Claus considered the slim possibility that they would be able to vanquish the titanic fiend. His Goblin Punch would damage the beast as though its foreboding armor didn't exist. Even so, Claus would be lucky if the fiend even noticed such a menial blow. Claus's other spells didn't have much practical use in direct combat. Casting Mad Rush would only be of use if the coterie engaged alongside martially skilled allies. Tori had a better than average proficiency for bludgeoning weapons. Even with the boost to speed and strength she would get from the spell, hurting the iron giant would be all but impossible. Her healing magic would also be lost in the frenzied rage that Mad Rush would instill. This left Claus with the option of casting Flash. Blinding the iron giant and escaping seemed like the optimal choice to the blue mage.

"Victory is impossible," Claus said. "We need to flee."

"You're unbelievable," the black mage spat as he conjured flames to his hands. "We can't leave without settling the score for Hank. We have to find Neal."

"It will cost us our lives," Claus warned.

Tori, having traveled with Claus longer than the rest of their adventuring troupe, was aware of his tendency to take an angry tone when speaking to companions. Tori placed a hand on Notch's shoulder. "I think it would be best if we regrouped and got some help for this one."

Notch slapped Tori's hand away. He continued to prepare his spell. His eyes burned red beneath the shadowy brim of his hat. "Do as you wish. I intend to fight." Notch stepped out from behind the statue. He raised his hands to the sky before he thrust his pams at the fiend. "Fira!" Notch screamed. Once more, everything seemed to dim. The iron giant was engulfed in a swirling pillar of flame that rose above its head. This effect persisted for a brief moment before the spell fizzled out. Often, Fira would leave burning bodies in its wake. Even stronger foes were sometimes sent running as they burned alive. The iron giant's metallic skin did not catch. There wasn't even a hint of smoke or steam. The fiend squatted low to the ground as Notch looked on with a defeated expression.

Claus knew what was about to transpire. He took Tori's sweaty hand in his fist and tried to make a run for the desert. It was too late. The iron giant jumped impossibly high into the air. Notch threw his head back to follow the sudden explosion of movement. His tall, pointed hat fell from his head as he lost the ebon fiend in the white hot sun. The iron giant fell, putting the momentum of its immense weight behind a chop with its cleaver. This sliced Notch diagonally and splashed the hot sand with gore. The black mages head and right shoulder were separated from the rest of his torso. The impact of the blow threw Claus and Tori in the opposite direction of Notch's innards, onto the ground.

Tori felt warm droplets of blood hit her face as the iron giant hovered over her. She heard a deep rumble come from the fiend in percussive waves. When she understood that it laughed, she flipped onto her stomach and crawled through the stinging sand in an attempt to escape the broad shadow of the murderous giant. Her eyes opened wide when she felt the monster's painful vice grip on her leg from her ankle to her knee.

Claus rose to his feet and centered the mask on his face to see that the bloodthirsty iron giant had set itself upon Tori. While most adventurers shunned him, his white mage companion remained by his side. He couldn't afford to lose her. Claus clenched his fist. It glowed faintly and cast orange and purple sparks.

"Goblin Punch!" Claus shouted. He adopted a wide stance with his legs, then wound up his shoulder to slam his glowing fist into the fiend's thigh.

The iron giant barely felt the attack, but he heard the intent behind his opposition's voice. He unhanded the woman and turned to assess his attacker. The blue mage was a hair over five feet tall. His clothes were as faded and tattered as his cape. It seemed like he had trouble keeping the painted porcelain mask from sliding off of his face. Behind the mask, the iron giant saw wild yellow eyes that radiated hatred. The fiend raised his cleaver to put a swift end to the quarrelsome whelp.

Before the fiend's deadly attack could fall, Claus threw up his hands. "Flash!" the blue mage commanded. In an instant, his entire body glowed brighter than the sun, creating a burst of light that rendered the giant sightless. The creature pressed a hand to its face as it swung its weapon through the dry air. None of the fiend's blows directly connected with Claus until the mage made his way over to Tori. The ground shook as the iron giant staggered past and swung his blade aimlessly. The tip of the weapon cut a quarter of the way through Claus's torso. The wound splashed Tori with even more blood. Claus screamed and clutched at the grisly wound above his hip as he fell into the sand. Blood made a grotesque noise as it pulsed through the tight grasp of Claus's fingers.

The giant heard Claus's screams. Vision still blurred, it charged the nearest object that stood out from the sand and dust. The iron giant crashed into a pillar that stood partially obscured by a dune of sand some distance away from the rest of the marble structures.

Tori bit her lip as she examined Claus's wound. Hank and Notch would be missed, but Claus was different. Though he was aloof, he possessed an endearing loyalty. No matter how badly a job went, or how many companions betrayed them for more optimal teammates, he stayed with Tori. She moved Claus's hands to get a look at the wound. The only thing she could see through the dark blood was a hint of fat below the skin. The depth of the cut lead Tori to believe that intestines had been severed and Claus would bleed to death in no time without healing magic. When Tori touched the wound for further inspection, Claus roared in pain. This caused the iron giant to stand from the fresh pile of rubble that had once been a pillar. Once more, the fiend charged Tori's position. The white mage closed her eyes and focused on the desert town that the group departed from earlier that day. Tori counted the thunderous paces of the iron giant as it ran for her. "Warp!" Tori cried. She tasted the grit that filled the air as the fiend rushed her.

The iron giant burst forth into a leaping tackle. The mage duo became intangible at just the right time, causing the brute to pass harmlessly through their partially teleported bodies. In a flash, Tori and Claus were but a short jaunt away from the town they'd been staying at.

Zaltun was a minor stop for caravans between an oasis town to the west and Glyroc, the seat of the fire crystal. The town was mostly comprised of adobe huts with straw roofs. The inn, made of wood and brick and tile, had an architecture more common in the northeastern part of the continent. The inn was likely built that way to attract wanderers. Tori longed for the strong ale and soft beds that waited there. Unfortunately, Claus still needed attention. His blood seeped out of his body into the trodden sand outside the town. There was a vacant expression behind the blue mage's yellow irises. Tori sucked the arid atmosphere into her lungs once more and tried to concentrate in spite of the sun's hot rays stinging her moist skin. She didn't think that she could muster a Cura spell. It would be impossible if she wanted to have enough energy to drag Claus into town. Tori hummed a Cure spell, aiming it at the wound. The bloody gash was bathed in an aquamarine light. The veins animated and snaked forth to reconnect somewhat. Tissue pulled itself back together in places. A nasty cut yet remained, but the bleeding slowed considerably. Claus blinked and muttered something about coeurls.

"Hush," Tori commanded. She patted down Claus's shaking body to find his dagger. He almost never used it, but Tori was glad to know that he still had it. She cut the bottom of her robes to tie a bandage around Claus's torso. The blue mage groaned and writhed as Tori pulled the knot tight.

"You think you can walk?" Tori asked.

Claus barely registered the question. It hurt to breath. Walking seemed impossible. "Yes," Claus whispered. He rolled over and rose to his knees. The pain in his side made his stomach churn. His head spun from his loss of blood. The blow from the iron giant was the gravest one that he could remember. It wasn't even a direct hit.

Tori knelt next to Claus and put one of his arms around her shoulders to help him to his feet. The way the blue mage dragged along wore on her patience. Her dry mouth didn't help matters. Hank and Neal were the ones who carried most of the supplies. It became apparent that she dropped her waterskin during the encounter with the iron giant.

As the two approached the gates of the town, the sun kissed the horizon to set the sky on fire. When they arrived at the wall that separated Zaltun from the sun-bleached wilds, one of the town guards helped them to the inn. Tori showed the guard to the room that they rented with their group a fortnight prior to their encounter in the ruins. The guard helped get Claus into one of the beds. Tori offered the helpful peacekeeper a drink at the bar, but he politely refused. Tori thanked him for his help as they both left the room.

The bed provided little comfort against intrusive thoughts as Claus rested alone. He stared at an oil lamp in the room and listened to the patrons of the downstairs bar mingle. The desert had a way of sapping people of their energy and it killed their lust for life. Normally, taverns were raucous with adventurers celebrating survival through another day. It was hard to get to sleep until the party died down. Claus hadn't had a problem getting to sleep in Zaltun until now. He ran his mind through the day's failures. He and Tori should have never agreed to go out on jobs with Hank and his companions. Maybe if it was just Tori, they would have been fine. Healing magic was objectively useful in the field, and Claus knew that she could be surprisingly effective with a mace or a hammer. Claus knew the best he could do was to distract enemies. He could empower his allies, but only with deadly drawbacks. "You're not good enough," Claus said to himself, a sentiment he learned years ago. It was drilled into him by the blue mages at the academy. "You need to be stronger." He repeated the words. They slipped painfully, almost silently, past his cracked lips.

Tori came back into the room sooner than Claus expected. She brought in a wooden bucket that overflowed at the brim with cool water. She pulled the chair from the writing desk and pulled it to the side of Claus's bed. She collected water in a ladle and dripped some into Claus's mouth. She tried to be careful, but water still ran down Claus's cheek, into his pillow. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Tori said. She knew Claus became crestfallen after failed quests. Tori was of the opinion that such failures were an unfortunate part of being an adventurer. The world, with its ever-increasing population of fiends, was a dangerous place. Some of the jobs that teams were sent on may as well have been suicide missions. People that employed themselves by taking quests and going on hunts often had short careers that ended in horrible death. Tori believed that she and Claus did well when she considered their history of surviving everything they had encountered together.

"You should find another black mage. Maybe a red mage. I'm not strong enough to protect anyone," Claus mumbled the words a little more clearly now with his thirst addressed.

Tori took in a ladle of the cool liquid, then it was Claus's turn again. She relished the sensation of the water soothing her throat. "You saved my life, too. Idiot." Tori fed Claus another helping of water.

Claus gulped the water down. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We wouldn't have lost Hank and Notch if I could have turned that bastard into stone. If I knew some gravity magic, they might still be alive," Claus rambled.

Tori let the ladle rest in the bucket. Her brow narrowed. "Are you suggesting that I'm not important?"

"That's not what I said. I saved you, but I couldn't do anything for the others. I still failed. Maybe, if I saw the thing's tracks ahead of time, I could have steered us away from its lair."

"How can you blame yourself when Neal and Hank went rushing in?" Tori frowned.

"If I don't take responsibility for my mistakes, I can't get stronger," Claus said.

Tori folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I can't be around you when you're like this," she said.

"I'm always like this," Claus replied.

"Normal people dust themselves off and move forward," Tori argued.

Normal people. What were those, even? After the wars, it seemed to Claus like the world could never be normal. Rare was the child with living parents. Peasants cowered in fear of occupying forces and sinister fiends. The wilds teemed with monsters. Depleted armies meant that towns and cities had to hire freelance adventurers to deal with them. "I don't think I can move at all right now," Claus posited in reference to his physical condition.

Tori stood abruptly and knocked over her chair and the water bucket. The contents of the bucket flooded the polished wooden floor. "How do you think I feel, Claus? Do you think I'm glad that we lost friends again? I'm devastated..." Tears flowed from Tori's eyes. She held a dirty sleeve of her robes to her face to stop the flow of tears.

Claus didn't know what to say. Upsetting Tori was just another error to pile on the heap. He watched as she dropped into the bed at the far corner of the room. Her body pulsed as she sobbed into her pillow. The crying got less violent with time. Claus watched her lay still until his own eyes became heavy.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dearest Claus,_

_You and I have become close friends during out months of travel together. It's been difficult, true. It's difficult all around. Believe it or not, working with you has made things easier for me. You are knowledgeable beyond most of our peers on the subject of fiends. I also believe that, at your core, you are a good man._

_The difficulties I have do not lie in the foes and obstacles we may encounter. They are instead centered around your own self-loathing. After a day is won, I have a severe need to drink and be merry. I need to forget the ills of the world. You seem to steep yourself in misery._

Tori began a sentence detailing how she felt about Claus. She wrote something she thought that she might regret. She dipped her quill in ink to scribble it out and leave an ugly black streak across the page. Tori decided to take a different approach to the letter.

_Since I left my hometown, you have been my closest friend. I understand that being a blue mage puts you in a bleak place when I consider your position in questing parties. I realize that you have a vital need for strength. To speak plainly, I know that acquiring said strength will be an ugly process. I have no desire to be present for it._

_I will head south for the coast. I'm not sure what ordeals I may face, but I want to see the ocean. In our travels, I've yet to set my eyes upon the tranquil sea. This is something that I desired, even when I was a girl. I suppose it's time that I see it through._

_In the room, I've left a potion on the writing desk. I won't wait for you to awaken to heal you. This is, in part, because I need to save my spellcasting stamina for my journey south. I plan to depart with a caravan, but with so many fiends about, the road ahead is not certain. The primary reason that I won't wait, though, is that I cannot bear to look into your eyes and bid you farewell. I don't fear your hatred. My concern is that I will look you in the eye and you will tell me that you don't care._

_If you never want to see me again, I understand. I don't think you feel that way though. When you work through the issues you've been having with yourself, I want you to seek me out. I'll be waiting for you. When I see you again, I want to see you smile._

_Sincerely,_

_Tori Dalle_

Tori folded the note and placed it on Claus's chest. She dried the water on the floor as best she could. She retrieved fresh robes from the chest at at the foot of her bed and went downstairs for a bath. When she returned, Claus was still asleep. She gathered her things. Tori would have liked to say Claus looked adorable as he slept. His dark gray eyebrows twitched sporadically and his mouth was fixed into a frown. Tori wiped away a tear as it escaped her eye and then she left.

Claus was far away in the second basement level of the Academy of Blue Magic. Nine years old again, Claus ran a hand along the wall to inch his way toward a classmate who cried out in the pitch blackness. The stones that made up the wall were smooth and slick. They were coated with a cool slime that was likely equal parts condensation and filth. Given the foul smell that thickened the air, Claus didn't want to guess at the exact nature of the strange substance that coated the walls. As he moved, the crying got louder. Claus reached out and caught a handful of fabric. It was likely that of his classmate's blue cape.

"Claus! No!" the other child cried. "You led it straight to me."

Claus turned when he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. A fearsome growl emanated from beneath two glowing red eyes. Claus sprang up in his bed, screaming. Tori's note fell into his lap. The afternoon light that poured in through the window stung Claus's eyes. The horrid stench of his dream was replaced with a faint smell of meat roasting in the kitchen downstairs. He felt around and touched the polished wood of the furniture that surrounded him. He knocked something from the table next to his bed and heard it shatter. Claus's tense muscles relaxed and he breathed deeply. When he was calm, he went to center his mask on his face, only to find it missing. A quick glance down confirmed that it was the object that shattered on the floor.

Claus read the note. He puzzled over the black streak near the center of the page. When Claus finished, he read it again to see if Tori left any subtle hints as to things he had done wrong. Claus crumpled the note and tossed it away. Again, his weakness had cost him an ally. Claus felt an odd weight in his heart. Perhaps it was because his sullenness had cost him his only real friend. Even so, when Claus thought about the sincerity of Tori's prose, he reasoned that he couldn't possibly keep such a kind and faithful friend.

The mage sat upright in his bed for some time, breathing and trying to come to grips with the grim reality of the day. His mind wandered. Claus mentally pictured Tori's full lips. Her soft body was so perfectly accentuated by her generous bosom and her wide hips led to thick thighs. Though her white robes were conservative, the outline of her beautiful body was always there to tease Claus. He always pushed the thoughts from his mind. He could not allow himself such lascivious contemplation. Claus could not allow himself to see her like that. It would only complicate things.

Unwilling to torture himself anymore with his own idle thoughts, Claus forced himself from the bed. As soon as he stood upright, the wound in his side protested. Most mornings, Claus would stretch and do pushups to get his blood circulating. Because of the pain in his side and the numbness in his legs, he decided to abstain from his morning exercise to take inventory of what equipment he had at his disposal. He knew most of it was gone with Neal and Hank. Immediately, he knew that they stashed a bag with 500 gil worth of coins underneath a loose floorboard in case of an emergency. Claus was pleasantly surprised to find that Tori hadn't taken it. In Neal's trunk, he found 15 spare wooden arrows and an empty canteen. The arrows were useless to Claus, as he had never been trained in archery. They did give him an idea for his objective for the day. The canteen made a handy replacement for the one missing from his belt. Hank had a large backpack that he used to carry material that he used to repair weapons and armor. Claus emptied it and slung it over his shoulder.

The mage turned to find himself in the mirror. He was struck at how wide his face seemed without a mask. There would be legal issues if a judge crossed his path and his vestments weren't up to code. Claus used his dagger to cut a wide strip from his cape. He cut diamond shaped holes to look out of. Claus tied the makeshift mask tight around his face. It was a lot scruffier than the old mask. The frayed edges of the faded blue fabric framed Claus's face severely. It would have to do.

Having emptied the room of usable loot, Claus sat down at the writing desk to ease the pain in his side. He rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window to see the sun beat down on ugly clay buildings. He needed a plan of action. Given his repertoire of spells and skills, he could ill-afford action. He was used to supporting a party through misdirection tactics. His usual game plan was to draw fiends away from Tori and any other caster with Goblin Punch and Flash. If they were lucky enough to have muscle, he might cast Mad Rush. Through imbibing the flesh of certain monsters, his body was resistant to frigid climates, and he was able to see in the dark. He had no way to bring true harm upon his enemies. Claus felt as though this would soon be a necessity. If any fiend of the desert ambushed him, his life would be forfeit.

Claus thought about the fiends of the desert. He had no desire to attempt to slay the iron giant. Drinking its blood to learn the Mighty Guard skill would be invaluable, but with his meager combat ability, Claus didn't think he was up to the task. The desert had other, more simple beasts like wild dogs and birds of prey, but there was little Claus could gain from them aside from hides and feathers. As he shifted his weight forward, Claus felt a pinprick of pain in his elbow. He lifted his arm to pick away a tiny splinter. A normal man, perhaps even a normal blue mage, would have ignored the splinter and plotted a course out of the desert. Claus decided to hunt a cactuar in order to learn its Thousand Needles spell.

Claus descended the stairs into the pub. His stomach grumbled, but he decided that it would be best to see if he survived his day's work before he frittered away precious gil on food. Claus had a decent amount of gil, but he knew that it wouldn't last long if he wasn't careful. The previous day's botched expedition didn't help matters. They were promised a handsome bounty to explore the ruins and present their findings to the local militia, who were scouting locations to set up strongholds. Some other group would have to claim that prize. Claus had no desire to return to those ruins. As he filled his canteen with water from a drinking trough, he pondered the possibility of finding Neal. The blue mage was ill-suited to take on such a rescue mission alone. There was also the possibility that the ranger had already met his end in the wastes.

Claus questioned his ability to take the brunt of a cactuar's needle attack as he leaned on the wall next to the trough. With a grunt, he willed himself to move. He walked across the dusty barroom floor. The tavern master stepped away from the bar and stopped Claus just before he was out the door.

"Will you be staying another night?" asked the pudgy, bearded man as he cleaned a drinking glass with a greasy rag.

"I might, if I survive the day," Claus pondered.

"Your lot are bad luck," the innkeeper grunted. "You'll be lucky if there are vacancies later."

Claus left the inn without argument. He didn't have the breath to spare in the conflict. The walk through town was a lonesome affair. The merchants skipped over Claus as they labored to promote their wares to the eclectic masses of travelers making their way through Zaltun. Even the beggars who tugged at the cloaks of other mages did little but look at Claus with quiet bewilderment. When Claus approached the gate, one of the guards made eye contact and moved from his position to intercept the mage. "Aren't you that blue mage from last night?" the guard asked with what Claus perceived as an uncommon level of concern.

"Probably," Claus said. Blue mages were scarce enough that two of them were almost never in the same town at the same time.

"You're clearly injured. Surely you don't plan on leaving town alone." The guard scanned the streets for the beautiful white mage who accompanied the wreck of a man the previous night.

"Is it legal for me to venture forth alone?" Claus doubted that it would be. Some towns did enforce regulations to which he was ignorant. It never hurt to inquire about the nature of said ordinances.

"Well, it would be legal, but with your injuries and the limitations imposed by your spellcasting, wandering the wastes would be suicide," the guardsman pleaded.

"Let me pass," Claus demanded.

The guard shrugged and moved aside. Claus stepped into the white hot desert. Claus overheard tales of cactuar encounters from a rowdy group in the tavern a few nights prior. Apparently, they stalked the wastes to the north. Claus walked away from the town. Others who walked in the same direction adjusted their path so as not to be adjacent to Claus. Wayfaring warriors and mages stepped away from parallel paths at odd angles. Chocobos with sun-bleached feathers screeched in protest as their riders pulled their reins to have them avoid Claus. To Claus, this was somewhat amusing. He knew how the masses felt about blue magic. His kind were often seen as being masochists with a death wish. It seemed to Claus that adventurers also treated blue mages as dangerous sub-human trash when they could get away with it. He couldn't blame them. There's a kernel of truth in every stereotype. Claus wished for death on many a lonely night. Other blue mages he'd met were afflicted with certain monstrous physical aberrations. He'd seen some with rough patches of scales on their flesh or pairs of wings too small to grant flight. Claus was aware of the ghoulish hue of his eyes. He'd inherited this trait when he learned Flash from an extra-dimensional witch being. He was also fully aware of how off-putting it could be to more orthodox adventurers.

The wound in Claus's side stung as sweat seeped in. It wasn't long before the effort of his journey through the desert caused the wound to open a little and bleed. Claus held a hand to his brow as he looked to the sky to trace the path of the sun. By his best estimate, he'd been on the hunt for about two hours. He considered giving up for the day until he saw a spec in the distance, something black in the shadow of a dune. Clus decided to investigate this before beginning his trek back to Zaltun to find shelter.

Though it wasn't that much noticeably cooler in the shade of that dune, Claus was still thankful. Especially so, when he realized that the object he saw was the dehydrated corps of a desert wolf. It's gray fur was thick with needles where it stretched tightly over bone. This seemed consistent with what Claus read about the hunting methods of cactuars. They attacked their prey with their often lethal needles. If said prey survived, the cactuar retreated to allow the prey to bleed to death in the desert. The fiend, if capable of finding the corpse, was said to return and drain the corpse of any remaining moisture. Clause took a moment to drink from his canteen. Though the fluid had warmed during his journey, its smooth flow still eased the burning in his throat. He was tempted to quaff the potion to ease the pain in his side, but he knew it would be essential if he was successful in his endeavor.

Claus left the shade to check the scene for clues. The desert often had a way of covering evidence with dust, but Claus saw the faintest hint of bizarre round tracks. Having noted the tendency of cactuar to move in nearly perfect linear patterns, Claus used the faint tracks as a heading and marched in that direction. He headed that way for hours. He exhausted his canteen one sip at a time as the sun reached its zenith and then dipped slightly below. When the light that reflected off the sand ceased to sting Claus's eyes, what little hope he had left dwindled. Claus dropped to his knees and tried in vain to shake a drop of fluid from the canteen. He stuffed the container back into his pack. Claus stood to scan the horizon. Dips in the sand were home to illusory puddles. Claus wondered how much of what he saw was put an illusion meant to play off of his deepest desire. This line of thinking transcended the desert and and invaded Claus's perception of the rest of the world. Did Tori really care about him? Claus's mind was weak, too addled with pain and sunlight to dismiss the troublesome thought. Even if she did care, she didn't care about him in any intimate or romantic capacity. Claus saw lovers arm in arm, roaming towns he'd visited. They didn't look like him. He remembered seeing young, beautiful people sharing an embrace in the shade of an apple tree. They had a softness to them, a sweet simplicity that Claus knew he could never attain. They smiled at each other. Other people smiled at them. It seemed as though everyone else in the world was privy to some secret to which Claus was oblivious.

Claus returned from his memory of that town and that rain of thought to the blistering hot sandscape before him. Directly in front of him, just over a hill of sand, he saw a silhouette bob up and down. Claus sprang forward and ran for the hill. The muscles in his legs burned almost as bad as his lungs as Claus panted arid breaths. When he reached the crest of the dune, Claus doubled over in exhaustion. In the shady bowl of sand beneath him danced a bright green creature covered with thorns. In its awkward dance, it spun. The creature's empty eyes and mouth locked onto Claus.

Claus drew his dagger. Judging by what he read, the easiest way to provoke the cactuar's needles would be to present a threat. Claus drew his dagger and charged down the hill. He swung his dagger as he dashed forward, and the cactuar danced out of the way. It shimmied back and forth in its strange movements. Claus read this as an attempt to bait out another attack. For a moment, Claus wracked with indecision. He didn't want to miss another attack with his dagger only for the thorny bastard to flee. Cactuars were incredibly nimble. Claus's pallid skin was slick with sweat, and he could feel the blood from his stinging wound seep into his trousers. Despite his condition, he carefully stepped to the cactuar's flank. If he could put the fiend between himself and the town, perhaps it would attack out of desperation. The cactuar danced in place. It rotated to track Claus's position. Claus anticipated a sudden retreat and leapt int a roll. Claus tasted dust as he landed on one knee. The botanical monster hopped back. No surprise could be registered on its hollow face, but its dance slowed. Claus viewed this as an opportunity to mount an offense and thrust forth with his dagger. The cactuar hopped back again, just out of the mage's reach. The fiend then started to spin violently.

This is what Claus wanted. He closed his eyes and opened his arm like a child accepting a mother's warm hug. Claus thought about the ruinous pain that was soon to befall him and bit his lip. The cactuar ejected close to a thousand metallic needles. These projectiles flew through the air in a steady torrent towards Claus. Some of the needles passed straight through the mage's body and carved minute, painful tunnels to their bloody exit. Others lodged themselves into Claus's bones and muscles to create hundreds of tiny points of radiating pain. Claus felt blood droplets flow and intermingle with just as much sweat. His body crumpled under the piercing agony of the spines. Claus grasped for his bag with an arm riddled with the long metallic thorns. The leather satchel was impossibly heavy to Claus. He fumbled with the pack, flipping it over in the tried once more, just to achieve a similar result. Darkness encroached on Claus's vision and his muscles went numb. He resigned himself to death as everything turned black.

Claus woke when his sun burnt face took a splash of cold water. His body, still numb from his grave injuries, barely registered the sensation. The thing that roused him more than anything was the landscape. He could scarce believe the moon shone so brightly in the sky because, in that ethereal light, the desert became an apparition of what Claus imagined the surface of the moon might be like.

"More water," Claus weakly begged. He could taste blood in his dry mouth. His crack lips tingled with pain.

"No problem mate," a voice sneered from behind Claus. "I'm just going to need a little help with something."

The stranger gave Claus another sip from his water-skin. He didn't have Tori's caring touch, but he still got the job done.

"I'm not going to be much help if you don't give me the potion in my bag," Claus said.


End file.
